


Starmaker

by fenrislorsrai, itwasadarkandstormynight



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Do It With Style Good Omens Reverse Bang, Gen, Pre-Fall Crowley (Good Omens), Sad Ending, Science, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), giant space snake Crowley, if you want to learn about stars you’ve found the right fic, references to Falling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:14:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28920381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenrislorsrai/pseuds/fenrislorsrai, https://archiveofourown.org/users/itwasadarkandstormynight/pseuds/itwasadarkandstormynight
Summary: “He had the stars to keep him company. He hadhisstars to keep him company. No one could take that away from him.”Crowley is a starmaker, a creator of galaxies. It’s his job, but luckily for him, he loves doing it. Perhaps he loves it a bit too much. His supervisors always think he’s got too many ideas about how things should be done, but even iftheydon’t like his ideas, he does things his way anyways.If he’s not careful, it’ll be the death of him one day.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 20
Collections: Do It With Style Good Omens Reverse Bang





	Starmaker

**Author's Note:**

> Includes amazing art in the form of a sculpture by [Fenris](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenrislorsrai)!
> 
> Also, a big thank you to both [Mehrto](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mehrto) and [Dashicra1](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dashicra1) for the beta read!

  
[See full size- Sculpture by Fenris Lorsrai](https://www.rainydaypaperback.com/media/files/AO3/starmaker/Dstarrmakerfrontfull.jpg)

Travelling through space was exhilarating every time Crowley did it, and even more so when he did it in snake form. His true form. He would never tire of it.

There was something so pure about the formation of stars; it thrilled Crowley to his core. All that was needed was a small disturbance—like a streaking comet, or a shock wave from a distant supernova—and particles would start to clump together. It would start small, almost imperceptibly so, but it would grow in size as time passed.

He had the time. He had all foreseeable time.

The thing about the particles that were needed to form stars is that they usually came from stars that had already died. There had been more than enough stars in the Beginning that were created so fast, they burnt out nearly instantaneously to provide fuel for the birth of new stars, but Crowley couldn’t help but feel like the stars needed a little help sometimes. And, well, he _was_ a giant snake. What else was he to do but consume dead stars and guide the crushed remnants to young, still forming ones?

He was here to create stars, and create stars is what he did.

Maybe he didn’t do it the way he was supposed to, but he was out here all on his own. Who cared how he did it as long as he got it done? No one had to know.

Of course, there was more to making stars than just the gathering of particles. For one, there was a stage Crowley referred to as the “Great Deflation”. Given enough time, and enough stuff, it starts to collapse under its own weight. His favourite part was the core heating up as it happened, and he greatly enjoyed coiling himself around this hot centre. 

  
[See full size- Sculpture by Fenris Lorsrai](https://www.rainydaypaperback.com/media/files/AO3/starmaker/starmakershadow.png)

(His favourite star to curl around was a big one. It was going to explode one day, he could tell. It would be _glorious_.)

Unfortunately, he couldn’t do that all the time—oh, he wished he could!—he had a job to do, but no one could stop him from, say, taking a nap between the stars from time to time. Sometimes, he’d stir one of the molecular clouds, to mix up the particles a bit. Especially when a disk had formed—parts of that would become _planets_ , and _moons_ , and _asteroids_ , and even though strictly speaking it wasn’t his job, Crowley loved creating them. And so he did. It’s not like anyone would stop him.

And then there was the birth of the actual star. Eventually, this disk with the protostar at the centre would become so hot it nearly burned Crowley. Strictly speaking, only the protostar got hot enough for that, but the disk around it was, at the very least, uncomfortably warm and he’d avoid touching it by then. When it did become this hot, the protostar would begin fusing, et voila: a star was born.

It was indescribable how witnessing that made him feel. It felt like the most glorious phenomenon ever devised, like nothing could ever top it, and it amazed him every time again. Crowley didn’t want to ever stop doing this, but if he somehow ever did tire of it, this would most certainly convince him to stay.

The tiny stars were usually the lightest, and Crowley was finished with them the soonest. As they got bigger, it took longer, as they needed to collect more particles first. At some point, however—and this was something that absolutely fascinated Crowley—if the protostar was heavy enough, it had enough gravity to gather the needed particles at a much higher rate. He greatly enjoyed seeing the difference between the different types of stars. There were so many of them, and they were all beautiful. So very beautiful. He could stare at them for ages, and he did.

* * *

The only thing Crowley did not enjoy was having to return to Heaven occasionally. He detested meetings. 

“It’s important to share our progress! We have to know how well everyone is doing so we can help if needed!”

Well, he didn’t need any help, he was doing perfectly fine on his own. If anything, the only thing that was causing him issues was all these fucking meetings all the time. Of course, if he ever said that, they’d either assume it was a joke, or they’d give him a reprimand.

Come to think of it, he preferred it when they thought it was a joke. At least only his ego would be hurt that way.

It was a constant stream of reports and paperwork, inasmuch as paper was a thing (it wasn’t), and every time it happened Crowley got bored and dozed off before they got halfway through. Unfortunately, this was before it was his turn to recount his achievements and tribulations since the last meeting, so inevitably, when he woke up, they'd all be staring at him. Usually, this meant that he'd jump up and start blabbering about things he'd done, but sometimes, he was still half asleep, and he just said "same as last time" and kept it at that. Since he _was_ doing his job properly, as he showed his superiors every time they came to check on him (which wasn't often), they begrudgingly accepted it as a report and continued with the next starmaker.

As soon as it was over, Crowley never hung around like some of his colleagues would. He flew away as fast as possible so he could tend to his stars again.

Flying was exhilarating time and time again, and it was the only thing about those horrible meetings he enjoyed. There was no wind, no air, no nothing, nothing to restrain him from doing whatever he wanted as he was flying, and he was so glad for it. He never felt more free than in a moment like that.

* * *

Oh, was he happy to be back with his dear stars again! The handy thing about stars is that they are always willing to listen, and they never interrupt you. This was especially convenient to Crowley, who often complained about his meetings whenever he came back from one. (Listen, he _really_ did not enjoy them, and he has to deal with his feelings _somehow_.)

His stars developed as well, nay, better than he’d expected. Some had neared the end of their lives already, and Crowley mourned each and every one of them, whether they quietly faded away, or went out with a bang. They’d had a good life, his stars, but it was always sad to see them go. Oh, he’d seen it coming, he knew the signs by now, but it always came as a shock, seeing what had once been a vibrant star, vanish just like that, sometimes with nary a clue they’d been there.

None of the other star-making angels felt that way, it seemed, as whenever Crowley decided he had to talk a bit more with his, well, colleagues, and tried mentioning how a few stars had died again since the last time they all saw each other, they never seemed to get it.

“Why are you so sad about it?” they’d say, or “What does it matter? That was going to happen anyways,” or even “Who cares? It’s part of the job, that’s just how it is.”

One time, he thought he’d found a kindred spirit, but it turned out they were only sad all their efforts to create a star had been for nothing, seeing as it was gone now. Crowley refrained from saying the death of a star was certainly not for nothing, the elements it spread throughout the universe had many uses indeed, as he didn’t feel like they’d believe him and he was too tired to convince them he wasn’t making things up.

The death of a star had use, had a purpose, and it was why Crowley was able to deal with his grief. It wasn’t for nothing, it wasn’t an insignificant footnote, but it helped other stars and even planets be born.

There was life in destruction, even if it took a while to show up. It felt like a small miracle every time Crowley noticed which of his stars had been influenced by the death of another, and it never lost its novelty. If you knew where to look for it, you could find it anywhere and everywhere. He loved it.

His favourite star had exploded recently. If he mourned a little longer than usual before getting on with his work, well, no one was around to tell. If he coiled around it like it was still forming sometimes, well, no one was around to see it, It was a good star. He’d taken extra special care creating this one, and he was sad to see it go.

It wasn’t for nothing, he knew that. The fact that it had exploded so vivaciously was good, as it meant the elements it had formed during its life were spread far and wide. He knew all that, but if he needed to remind himself of that a little more often than usual, well... no one was around to know.

He’d carry on. He always did.

He was glad no one was around, really. He liked his solitude. It gave him the peace and quiet he so valued. (He wasn’t glad he had to bear all this alone, but he knew no one else would bear it with him even if they were right there with him.)

So on he went, creating stars, guiding them to their next stage of life, whatever that may be. Creating disturbances himself, so stuff would start to clump together; coiling around the centre of a disk of particles as it starts to heat up; stirring the disk to create planets, moons, and asteroids; witnessing a protostar as it begins fusing and becomes a star; mourning the passing of a star as it dies; consuming the remnants of dead stars, and using that to make sure any young protostar had enough material to work with. 

  
[See full size- Sculpture by Fenris Lorsrai](https://www.rainydaypaperback.com/media/files/AO3/starmaker/Dstarmakerunder.jpg)

It went on like this for a very long time. Crowley would busy himself with his stars, until it was time for a meeting, which he’d reluctantly go to, then leave as fast as he could. The occasional trip through space, not really going anywhere, just _going_. As far as routines went, this wasn’t a bad one. 

* * *

A few protostars were having trouble coming into existence. It wasn’t the first time that had happened—there were a number of stars that never actually became stars, but petered out long before they ever got to that stage.

It felt different this time, somehow.

Crowley couldn’t help but feel pity, and he had to do something. Simply giving them more material didn’t work, however, and he was at a loss as to what to do. There had to be _something_ , right? He couldn’t just give up on them. They didn’t deserve that. So he got to work. He tried everything, from giving them particles at different increments, to stirring the particle soup, even coiling around them in an attempt to get them going.

It didn’t work.

It took him a while to realise that his attempts to revive them were futile, but he’d been neglecting the other stars, as he found out when one of them went supernova. Oh, he’d known that would happen, but he hadn’t realised it would happen so soon—or rather, that he’d lost his sense of time trying to aid the struggling protostars.

Maybe—maybe they hadn’t been so different after all.

Crowley wasn’t sure why he’d thought they were different. There was nothing that had set them apart, nothing that said “I can still develop into a proper star”, nothing that had actually been a sign of life. Just a set of protostars, trying their best, and ultimately failing despite having done nothing wrong.

(He definitely didn’t feel so desperately sad about it because Heaven had told him a few of his ideas for stars weren’t ‘proper’ and that he wouldn’t be allowed to finish and release them. It definitely didn’t have anything to do with that, no siree.)

(Nor had Crowley decided to not listen to that and make them anyway, harbouring them in secret, taking care they wouldn’t be discovered. See? There were many benefits to being alone. He had the stars to keep him company. He had _his_ stars to keep him company. No one could take that away from him.)

  
[See full size- Sculpture by Fenris Lorsrai](https://www.rainydaypaperback.com/media/files/AO3/starmaker/Dstarmakersnoot.jpg)

  
[See full size- Sculpture by Fenris Lorsrai](https://www.rainydaypaperback.com/media/files/AO3/starmaker/starmakerface.png)

Normally, he barely mourned for failed protostars, as there wasn’t much to mourn. Sure, there was the loss of a potential life, and that deserved grief, but he always repurposed the material of them for new protostars. That is how he dealt with it; that is how he gave their death meaning, that is how he gave their death purpose.

Perhaps he mourned more than just what these stars-to-be could have been. Perhaps. 

( _Perhaps_ these not-yet-stars deserved it.) 

These stars may not have been good enough, but their successors would be. If they weren’t—Crowley didn’t want to think about that possibility, so he didn’t. Instead, he threw himself into his work even more than usual. His next stars would be _magnificent_ , or he’d swallow his own tail. 

He jumped frantically from star to star, inasmuch as a giant snake can jump in the void that is most of the universe, checking each and every one of them for impurities or other debilitations that would make him help the process along. He couldn’t afford mistakes. They were his stars, and he cared deeply about them, but if they didn’t do well it was he who had to pay for their flaws, and he could not afford that at all. He wasn’t exactly employee no. #1 right now.

He did everything he usually did, but there was much less joy in it. Creating disturbances, gathering material, giving disks that extra spin with the tip of his tail so they’d develop faster; it just didn’t bring him the happiness it used to. He was just going through the motions.

His new stars were doing well—great, even—but it didn’t magically fix everything else. If galactic snakes could cry, Crowley would have. 

(Maybe it was a good thing he couldn’t, as it was time for another meeting, and management tends to frown upon displays of emotional distress. Crowley had gotten quite good at hiding how he felt, even before he got told he wasn’t allowed to make his carefully designed new kind of star.)

His trip back to Heaven was... uneventful. Oh, the stars and galaxies around him were as glorious as ever, with their colours all over the place, but Crowley didn’t feel like he could enjoy them this time. He was far too worried about the meeting—what if they weren’t satisfied? He was on thin ice already, would they fire him? What was he supposed to do then? Was there even a precedent for this?

It started out as a meeting like any other, and Crowley was bored out of his mind. Not even his anxieties could distract him from the monotonous drone of a conversation that was this particular gathering. It was almost as if they were prolonging their itinerary to torture Crowley. None of the others seemed to mind, but then again, Crowley always had been the odd one out. 

Several eternities later, his superiors finally addressed him. “Crowley,” they said. “We are glad to see you have realised the importance of following the rules. Your latest work has all fallen within the guidelines, and we are very proud to see it.”

Crowley couldn’t believe it. He’d done _well_? He’d followed their standards properly? It certainly wasn’t on purpose. They must not have been paying enough attention, because if there was one thing Crowley hadn’t done, it was following the rules.

(“Very proud to see it” was not something Crowley would soon forget. If only they were proud because he’d created marvellous stars, instead of falling in line.)

Oh, sure, he hadn’t _broken_ any rules, only bent them. But if the rules made it more complicated than necessary, Crowley felt no inclination to do it the way he was ‘supposed to’. His way was better, anyways, and no one could tell the difference once he was finished. He’d long since learnt his lesson about making suggestions, so he simply pretended he was doing it properly, then turned around and did it the way _he_ wanted to. He always thought it gave his stars just that little extra spark, a little extra zest.

Of course, he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he politely thanked them and sat there silently until it was over.

He felt a lot lighter on the journey back. He didn’t have any shoulders in this form, but it felt like a weight had been lifted off of them nonetheless. If his superiors were proud of him, that meant they weren’t going to keep as close an eye on him, and _that_ meant—well. If he occasionally took a break to work on his own private project, who’s to say he was doing anything other than his job?

(No one but him, that’s who. Was he ever delighted that was the case. He hadn’t realised how much it had weighed upon him until it was gone.)

* * *

It was as though everything had been given new life. The colours around him were more vibrant, the effects of a star going supernova were felt more clearly than ever, and there was enough material to help any protostar grow. For the first time in a long, long while, Crowley was truly happy. His entire body was singing with joy, and the stars, _his_ stars, were singing with him. 

Consuming the remnants of dead stars was always bittersweet, but the glee he felt knowing he could use them for his own stars was simply brilliant. Well, he considered all of the stars his, but not all of them were open to the public, so to say. 

He got to work. He spun particles together, stringing them carefully so they wouldn’t get all tangled up just yet, and let them simmer on their own for a while. He couldn’t stay to watch over them, that would attract unwanted attention, but he had to leave them be for some time either way; he decided to actually do his job in the meantime.

And what a job it was! He sprinkled some material over protostars, coiled around some spinning discs before giving them a swirl with his tail, and checked on the older ones. None of them were dying just yet, but some were close. There was this one binary system with a white dwarf Crowley sensed just wanted to go supernova, but it simply hadn’t acquired enough mass to trigger the explosion.

Well. He could help it along a little, couldn’t he? It was inevitable anyways. He wasn’t doing anything untoward, he was just helping out. Yes. That’s what he was doing.

The other star was a red giant, and it was leaking gas to the white dwarf. Crowley decided to add some he’d accrued from other stars, as they’d needed some pruning, and what else was he supposed to do with it? There wasn’t much more he could do but wait for it to explode, so he decided to wait until that happened. He had enough to do while he waited, too, so he definitely didn’t have to worry about running out of things to occupy himself with.

The white dwarf was getting hotter already. It was only a matter of time.

He returned to his regular tasks. It was quite a nice collection he had already, but it wouldn’t stay as beautiful if he didn’t work to maintain it. And maintain it he did! While that one dwarf was just itching to go supernova, it hadn’t done so yet, but there had been several other stars that _had_ died, either in a fiery explosion, or a quiet, dignified, and gradual decline into stagnation. He mourned them, of course, after which he swallowed the remnants and used them to aid the development of recently emerged protostars. 

All this jumping from star to star had created several disturbances, but, well, one could never have too many clumps of particles lying around. After all, you never knew which type of stars would develop out of them. You needed variation! Plus he _loved_ flying around between the stars. 

As much as he enjoyed creating stars, he couldn’t wait to continue working on his secret project. They had been simmering long enough. Weren’t they magnificent! Oh, he’d never understand why his proposal had been rejected. They were doing so well already, and he couldn’t help but be mesmerised by how they flickered and glimmered. The colours! The flame-like movements even in their early stages! Truly a sight to behold!

(Crowley didn’t want to play favourites, but even he couldn’t deny he hadn’t been this excited about creating stars since he’d first started.)

(He had to remember to be careful, though. Sure, the last meeting had gone well, somehow, but that didn’t mean they were off his tail now.)

While he certainly didn’t enjoy having to be so secretive, it wasn’t entirely bad he was working on this all on his own; it gave him the chance to really iron out the kinks. And iron them out he did; although they were beautiful, they weren’t perfect. His own fault, he was the one who designed them and made them, and there’s so much that can go wrong in between—maybe they'd simmered for too long, or maybe not long enough! Maybe a few particles had been out of order! There were simply too many variables to take into account, but he didn’t have the luxury of being able to start over, so fixing them was his only option.

He didn’t really mind—he loved working on his secret stars. There was a part of him that couldn’t wait to show them off, but he had learned to be patient, and patient he would be. He couldn’t let anyone see them until they were absolutely perfect, and they weren’t even properly shining yet.

No, he had to endure. He would persevere.

(He had to.)

Luckily, none of them showed signs of failure so early on, and the mistakes, small as they were, were easily fixed. Internally, Crowley heaved a sigh of relief. His stars... his source of pride and joy... they were okay. More than okay, they were doing _great_. Oh, he could laugh, he could dance, as happy as he was. 

(He didn't. He couldn't risk it.)

Besides, there was still work to be done. It was time to hide his secret stars and start working on his other stars. He didn’t want to neglect them. Sure, they weren’t the culmination of his life’s work, but they still helped him get there, and they were still so very beautiful.

He hadn’t quite realised how much he loved them still. Just because they weren’t “special”... he felt like a fool. Here he was, creating stars, and nearly stopping the rest of his work to enjoy it. No, that wouldn’t do.

His secret stars just needed to gather material on their own now, so Crowley decided to hide them inside a particularly dense gas cloud and hope, _pray_ for the best. It would also make a good hiding spot in the case of an inspection, or if he had to leave them behind for another one of those dreadful meetings. It never hurt to be prepared.

With his secret stars secured, he threw himself into taking care of the others. He hadn’t been paying as much attention to them as he ought to have done, but they were still flourishing without him. He was so proud to see it. 

It was a good moment.

  
[See full size- Sculpture by Fenris Lorsrai](https://www.rainydaypaperback.com/media/files/AO3/starmaker/Dstarmakerfrontbehind.jpg)

Just because they were doing well didn’t mean he was allowed to slack off, though, and there was still work to be done. Crowley felt like he could do it in his sleep, but he definitely preferred to be awake for it. The joy wasn’t in the having, it was in the doing, and he certainly loved creating stars. 

(And planets. And moons. And asteroids. It might not be in his job description, but he loved doing it, and no one could stop him.)

He was pleased to note that white dwarf he felt was going to explode soon had, in fact, exploded in a fiery supernova. He mourned its death for a while, then got to work gathering material he knew would help younger stars. The supernova had sent a shock wave across space, so there were several clumps of particles ready to collapse in on themselves and start fusing. Not all of them were as far along, so he could still coil around a few of them to help them on their way.

Some protostars were beginning to shine so beautifully he was nearly brought to tears, were it not for the fact that even galactic snakes cannot cry. He could stare at them for eons. He gave each dust cloud a few extra spins with his tail, then went on his way.

* * *

He'd done all he wanted to do, and theoretically, he could take a break, but he didn't feel like doing that. No, he decided, it was time for an _inspection_. That way, he could really get up close and admire every little detail about every single star and not-yet-star and not-anymore-star. 

It was very simple. If there was one thing he loved above all, it was getting a closer look at his stars. No one else would ever appreciate them like him, he was sure of it. They deserved to be admired. He would simply have to do all the admiring himself! 

Luckily, he didn't mind doing it.

(It also gave Crowley the opportunity to distract himself from wondering how his secret project was coming along, but if anyone asked, that was only incidental.)

And so he went on his rounds. He examined every single part he could think to examine. This meant he had to get very close, otherwise it would get hard to distinguish between all the various details. He _loved_ doing that. It allowed him to see the glamour and the glitter of the stars in ways he usually didn't.

(It also rubbed off on him, which had the added bonus of making his scales shine almost as if he was a star too, or rather, several.)

  
[See full size- Sculpture by Fenris Lorsrai](https://www.rainydaypaperback.com/media/files/AO3/starmaker/starmakertop.png)

Inspections always took up a lot of his time, which is why he didn’t do them very often, as much as he adored them. He still had to take care of his stars, and he couldn’t do that while also being busy with an inspection. He’d never get anything done if he did it that way. 

Of course, his stars were still doing well. He couldn’t be more proud. After a quick touch-up, he decided it was time to check on the prototypes.

Even before he saw them, he knew they were doing well, since the dense gas cloud he’d hid them in was noticeably thinner. When he did see them, he couldn't help but gasp in surprise. Oh, they were _magnificent_! He felt like he was bursting with joy. Unable to contain his emotions, he zoomed around his secret stars before settling down to take a closer look. There were certainly things that could be improved upon, but overall, they were doing well, which meant his ideas and execution had been done well too! He _knew_ his supervisors had made a mistake when they'd denied his proposal.

He'd show them. Oh, would he show them. Once his prototypes were finished, he'd show them, and then they would be forced to admit they'd been wrong all along.

It was the first time he’d ever felt excited about a prospective meeting. It was a foreign feeling, and an odd one at that. Nonetheless, he appreciated it. One had to have new experiences from time to time. It kept you on your toes, even if you didn’t have those.

Hopefully he'd be able to finish them in time. For once, he didn't have all foreseeable time. But he owed it to his stars, and himself, to at the very least _try_.

As luck would have it, almost immediately after he thought that, it was time for yet another meeting. 

(He didn't know what they were thinking, so soon. Could it maybe have to do with those rumours of civil war he’d heard about? Why would they? Whatever did that matter to starmakers?)

(They probably thought a few of them were involved, but considering they were out in space all the time, Crowley really didn't know how that was supposed to have happened.)

* * *

As far as meetings went, it was a pretty standard one. Unfortunately, Crowley couldn't contain his curiosity, so when the conversation subject shifted to the rumoured civil war, he couldn’t contain himself, and questioned why they were even talking about it, wasn’t that wholly irrelevant to their job? Why would they call a meeting for _that_? He wasn’t on their side, but didn't they have a point?

(It wasn't the first time he'd questioned his superiors, and each time he came away with a reprimand and regrets. This time wasn't much different. Only more severe.)

Crowley fled as soon as he saw an opportunity for it.

He shouldn't've asked questions. He should never have been so curious.

He was doomed. He was damned—well, he was about to be.

He had made his escape to the stars. He knew he couldn't hide there forever, but he _had_ to go back for his secret prototypes. They would never be finished anymore, but he'd be damned in more ways than one if he'd let the others destroy them.

He had to hide them. But where could he even place them where they’d never be discovered? The gas cloud wasn't an option anymore. no, he couldn't do that, even if it was still dense enough, it wouldn't stay that way.

What about... oh _no_.

In the distance, he could see them already. He had no idea who 'they' were, but he knew why they were coming towards him.

He had to act fast. Think, think, think, what could he possibly do?

In a desperate act of devotion he swallowed them whole. It hurt, they were hot as hell (well, how hot he imagined hell to be. He'd know soon enough.) but they'd be _safe_ there. This way, he'd always carry them with him.

Nothing was sure anymore. Life was about to be more adventurous than he could ever have imagined.

He would always have his stars. If nothing else, at least he could count on that.

  
[See full size- Sculpture by Fenris Lorsrai](https://www.rainydaypaperback.com/media/files/AO3/starmaker/starmakerunder.png)

**Author's Note:**

> When it came to describing how stars are born, I used the following sources: [NASA](https://science.nasa.gov/astrophysics/focus-areas/how-do-stars-form-and-evolve), and [this article](https://science.howstuffworks.com/how-are-stars-formed.htm). I also used [this forum discussion](https://astronomy.stackexchange.com/questions/156/how-long-does-it-take-to-produce-a-star-why-does-it-take-that-long) for details on how bigger stars (aka much bigger than, say, our sun) evolve.
> 
> The white dwarf that's part of a binary star going supernova the way it does, including the other star leaking mass to the white dwarf, is called a [type Ia supernova](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Type_Ia_supernova).
> 
> Some inspiration for this fic was taken from an actual galactic snake, located in the Sagittarius constellation. It was discovered by the Spitzer Space Telescope somewhere in 2006 (at least, that's when the articles [[1](https://www.nasa.gov/mission_pages/spitzer/news/spitzer-20061027.html), [2](https://www.jpl.nasa.gov/spaceimages/details.php?id=PIA01318)] I found discussing it were published).
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
